


you wear it well

by transkylo (captainandor)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fashion & Couture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainandor/pseuds/transkylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo is the head tailor of a successful menswear store - his week is brightened by a certain regular customer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you wear it well

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie this is a product of me being bored at work and thinking it would be a great idea to essentially give kylo my job because i love fashion industry aus

Kylo, like everyone else in the corporate, adult world, hates Mondays. He hates getting up early, he hates putting on a suit, and he hates, for the most part, dealing with customers. Which, unfortunately, since his last promotion, he seems to spend a lot more time doing than he'd like. His only salvation is that once the morning fittings have been dealt with he can return to the sewing room and hide from the world. Do what he actually signed up for when he took the job in the first place - sewing is what he's good at, talking to people is not. 

Today's schedule, thankfully, is quiet. Regardless, there's just something about the first day of the new working week that infinitely sucks. He's angrily taking up the hem on a trouser leg when the receptionist’s voice sounds, crackled, over the tannoy. 

“Ren to reception please. That’s Ren to reception, Mr Hux is here for his fitting,” 

He stops sewing and glances at the clock on the wall. 11am, precisely. Hux is _never_ late for any of his appointments. Ever. Not even by a minute. Kylo switches his machine off and grabs the tape measure, throwing it loosely over his shoulders as he makes his way to the door. Phasma catches his eye on his way out, throwing him a wink. 

“Have fun,” she says. 

“Fuck you,” Kylo lets the door swing shut with a click. 

He makes his way down to the fitting rooms on the second floor, straightening up ever so slightly when he steps into the foyer and sees Hux waiting on the opposite end of the room. He’s dressed impeccably, as always. Kylo’s never known a man to look so smart on his way to a fitting – charcoal grey morning trousers, tapered from the knee down to his ridiculously shiny Oxford shoes. A contrasting blazer over a neatly fitted notch lapel waistcoat. He could be going to have tea with the Queen, looking like that. 

Showing up for a fitting in jeans and a t-shirt would be perfectly fine – it makes things ten times easier, for the most part. Hux usually has to _remove_ layers so that Kylo is able to obtain accurate measurements. 

Kylo hasn’t yet bothered mentioning that he actually has Hux’s measurements memorised, perfectly. There’s no real need for him to keep coming back, and Kylo really ought to tell him so; except that he looks forward to these appointments, they're the only thing that actually brighten up a morning. 

“Good Morning,” he greets, politely as he can. Hux turns at the sound, and Kylo is hit, not for the first time, by just how striking the man is. He could be a model, for all Kylo knows. 

“Ren,” Hux replies, holding out a hand to shake. He always does this, always so formal. His hands are cool, handshake firm, in stark contrast to Kylo’s own which are covered in tailor's chalk and stray pieces of thread. Hux never seems to mind. 

“Shall we?” Kylo nods towards the fitting rooms behind them, and Hux gestures. 

“After you,” 

“A new suit so soon?” Kylo asks, once they’re inside and the door is securely closed behind them. Hux removes his blazer and Kylo carefully hangs it up out of the way. Hux’s back is warm under Kylo’s fingers as he positions the tape measure at the nape of his neck, “Special occasion?”

Hux hums. “Yes. Wedding,” he says. 

Kylo’s heart stutters, just a little. Phasma will make fun of him for it later. “Ah,” he says, “Who’s the, uh, lucky other half?” 

Hux’s laugh captures him off guard. 

“Not my wedding,” he corrects, glancing over his shoulder. Kylo catches the sharp corner of a smile, “A friend. I’ve been coerced into playing the role of best man,” 

Kylo hums, only half paying attention to Hux’s shoulder measurement. When he glances up, he can see Hux watching him in the mirror. “…So, any ideas in mind? Colour? Cut?”

“What do you think?” 

“Well,” Kylo says, thinking, “You don’t want to upstage the couple, but we _do_ have a really nice wool blend fabric that’s just come in. Dark grey lined with purple and a subtle check. I can show you samples, if you like?” he kneels to take the outside leg measurement, though he knows this already, too. 

“I trust your judgement,” Hux replies, “Everything else you’ve made has been exquisite,”

Kylo’s good at what he does. He _knows_ this. Still, he feels his cheeks heating at the obvious praise and murmurs a thank you as he rises back to his full height and throws his tape measure over his shoulder. 

He clears his throat, “It should be ready in a week,” he says, “I’ll give you a call,” 

Hux turns and accepts Kylo’s help back into his blazer. “You didn’t take my inside leg measurement,” he notes, carefully buttoning it up at the front and then moving to fix the cuffs. He glances up. 

Kylo falters. “Oh,” he says, clears his throat again out of nervous habit, “I um, already know it,” he looks at the floor, then at the ceiling, thinks _You’re nearly thirty years old, asshole, stop acting like a goddamn teenager_ , and then adds, “I have a good memory. For numbers,” 

Hux’s eyebrow raises almost imperceptibly, and he drapes his overcoat and scarf over one arm. “How useful,” he says, amusement obvious in his tone, “Well. I’ll see you in a week,” 

Kylo remembers that he has to open the door. He tries not to let his fingers shake too much as he does, and lets Hux out first, into the conditioned air of the foyer. “A week,” he repeats, “ – yeah. Yes.” 

“I look forward to it,” Hux says, before spinning on his heel. Kylo watches him until he leaves, and then keeps staring at the door for a good ten minutes afterward until one of the shop boys nudges him in the back and tells him he’s needed back in the sewing room.

*** 

The suit is, by all accounts, perfect. Kylo has never been so proud of a finished set of garments in his entire career. Phasma leans against his sewing table as he runs the last row of edgestitching on the breast pocket of the blazer, letting out a low whistle.

“That’s some mighty fine work there” she says, glancing over at the other garments where they hang on the rail behind him, “You know, it would look even better on your floor,” 

Kylo stops sewing. “Are you – did you actually just say that,” 

“Absolutely,” she says, and then grins, when he casts her a scathing look, “Come on, don’t disagree with me,” 

“I think I’d be pretty pissed if the suit I’ve just made ended up on the floor, Phas,” 

“Folded neatly?” 

Kylo resumes sewing, “Don’t you have work to do,” he asks, instead. 

Phasma takes the hint and stands properly again, “He’s in at half three,” she says over her shoulder, crossing the room and picking up the iron. “So you’ve got plenty of time.”

A glance at the clock confirms that ‘plenty of time’ is actually just about five minutes. 

“I said I’d call him when I was finished,” Kylo replies, frowning as he slides the blazer out from under the needle and cuts off the loose thread, “I wasn’t planning on seeing him until tomorrow,” 

“I called him for you,” she informs Kylo in a matter-of-fact tone. 

He stares at her. “Phasma,” 

“I knew you’d have it finished today,” she continues, ignoring him, “And anyway, I don’t know why you’re so determined to avoid him. He’s absolutely full of praise.” 

“ _Phasma._ ” 

“What?” 

Kylo’s next words are cut off by the tannoy, which sounds through the alterations room loud and clear. 

“Mr Hux is here for his half three appointment.” 

He nearly falls over in his haste to stand, “I still need to _iron_ this blazer,” he hisses at his friend, who just grins at him and holds out a hand. 

“It’s fine,” she says, taking it from him and placing it over the ironing board in front of her, “My record ironing time is two minutes, and you’ve still got three,” to prove a point, she finishes it in no time and hands it back with a flourish. “There you go,” 

He practically snatches it back and throws it on over a hanger. “I hate you,” he says, on his way out. 

“I know,” she calls after him. 

Kylo silently prays that he doesn’t look an absolute mess as he steps out onto the shop floor. They don't usually have customers for fittings on a Sunday – it just doesn’t happen. He’s exhausted after the busy week, his work blazer is rumpled from where he's been slouched over his machine all day and his hair has been lazily scraped into a loose bun at the nape of his neck. 

_Ugh,_ he thinks, _stop being so self-conscious. It’s a customer, not the fucking president of the United States._

The thought dies in his head when he catches sight of Hux at the other end of the room – and he resists the urge to fix his hair as he determinedly makes his way over, the suit carefully folded over one arm in its bag. 

“Good afternoon,” he greets.

Hux looks up from his phone. His eyes seem to linger for a second before he replies, “And to you,” he glances at the suit over Kylo’s arm and then back up, tucking his phone away into a pocket, “It’s unusually quiet today,” he comments, posing it almost as a question. 

“Oh,” Kylo says, “Yeah, we don’t normally do fittings or collections on a Sunday,”

“I’m not taking up your time, am I?” he seems genuinely concerned.

Kylo shakes his head, feels his hair slipping down a little more, “It’s really not an issue,” he assures the other man, even though it kind of is, because he’s certain he looks like a hot mess and this is _all Phasma’s fault_ – but Hux doesn’t need to know that.

“…Anyway,” he says, after a moment, and gestures to one of the changing rooms, “Would you like to try it on?” 

He takes it into the room and hangs it up, unzipping the bag and carefully taking out the individual garments and hanging those up on the rail. Hux looks over them approvingly, reaching out to feel the fabric of the blazer with one hand. 

“What do you think?” Kylo wonders. 

Hux looks over at him, “I told you I trusted your judgement,” he says, “I was correct to do so. This fabric is beautiful,” 

Kylo bows his head, “Well,” he says, “I’ll let you try it on – and then see how everything else is,” 

I’ll fit perfectly, he already knows. Hux will look look gorgeous in it; he already knows this, too. 

He waits outside, glaring at his messy hair in one of the mirrors while he does so. Phasma catches his eye from behind the staff door – he flips her off and she disappears again with a grin. 

Hux emerges from behind the door just a few minutes later, looking – predictably – like some angels had personally descended from heaven and carved him themselves. He spins, slowly, on one heel, a smile flickering somewhere at the edges of his lips. He holds his hands out, “Well?” he asks. 

Kylo swallows, audibly. “I think you’re going to be centre of attention at that wedding,” he says.

*** 

There’s a slip of paper waiting at Kylo’s sewing machine when he returns to it. He frowns, looking to Phasma, “What’s this?” he asks, picking it up. It looks like an order ticket, but there’s nothing on the front, and no garment to match it with.

“Hm?” she leans over her own machine to look, “Oh! Someone from reception handed it in when you were in the stockroom. She said Mr Hux left it with her on his way out and that it was to be handed in,” 

“Hux – what?” Kylo looks at her, “It’s a blank ticket?” 

Phasma reaches across and turns it over for him. On the back, right in the middle, is a series of numbers written neatly in black ink. 

Kylo stares at it, and then stares at Phasma.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, deadpan.

It’s a phone number. Underneath; six words. 

_You're good with numbers,_ it reads, _call me_

**Author's Note:**

> talk star wars to me @translkylo on tumblr


End file.
